Off Your Back Like Duck's Water
by Carter Bishop
Summary: After moving to a small town for her rehab bound sister Wendy, Abigail Morgan finds herself locking horns with the matriarch of her nephews baby-daddy's club and his jealous old lady. And when nothing is as it seems, Gail must fight to protect her family from those who seek to hurt her specifically before she even realises she is the target. Jax/OC
1. Chapter 1

OFF YOUR BACK LIKE DUCK'S WATER

CHAPTER ONE

Gail slumped into one of the deep wicker armchairs on the back portion of her new wrap around deck. The ranch style house had originally belonged to her paternal grandparents, was the home her father grew up in and as the only surviving member of the Morgan family the property had been left to her. It was situated in one of the nicer areas of a small town, barely a blip on the map it would seem, but word on the street dictated Charming to be more than what met the eye.

She rolled her eyes. She had more to focus on at the moment than small town conspiracy's and politics. She lifted what she knew was definitely the largest wine glass in her arsenal from the matching wicker out door table and took a deep pull of the rich, red liquid. She had never really been a fan of red wine. At least not until she made it through moving day and discovered the house warming gift from her grandfathers lawyer was the only booze in the house.

Her grandfather had been more of a whiskey kind of man but had downed every last drop in the house the minute he realized his days were just that.

She was enjoying the peace that had seemed to settle over the house from the moment the removalist van departed before being suddenly startled back to attention. Gail rolled her eyes as the home telephone chirped unpleasantly. She mentally added changing the ringtone to her list of shit to get in order.

By the time she replaced her glass on the table and stood up the noise had ceased, leaving an unconvincing replica of her former serenity in its place. There was no way she could act as careless as she was feeling when her gut was telling her exactly who had been on the other end of that phone line.

Deciding to backtrack for her wine and to take the long way around the entire porch to the front door before retrieving the phone, Gail conceded that yeah, maybe expecting the house to still be fully stocked was a little far fetched considering the will had been executed nearly two years before hand.

With a budding career as a pathologist, it had seemed redundant to move cross-country before she had made the connections necessary to make that type of move viable. She had managed to make it to Charming in time to spend the last couple of days of her grand papa's life by his bedside, even sharing a smoke or two when he requested it, but beyond attending the prearranged funeral and reading of the will, she'd had no plans to stay there permanently.

But the last two years had been very good to her. So good as to be able to pull the appropriate strings in order to secure a position at St Thomas and participate in a small research project they were conducting.

Gail took a deep gulp from her glass once more. She wouldn't have even needed to make the move if it wasn't for the same person who, if she was a betting woman, she would bargain with her career was responsible for disturbing her minutes ago.

She increased her pace and pushed past the wooden doors. She had mounted a cordless wall phone by the door as the removalist's organized her living room furniture earlier that morning for this reason specifically.

Perching herself against the cream coloured plaster, Gail mouthed the numbers as she counted down the seconds until the rehabilitation clinic called once more. _Ten… nine… eight._ A sip of wine. _Six… five… four… three… two…_

"One," she breathed out, just as the same harsh shriek broke the silence once more. She let it trill for a few more seconds before picking it up to answer on the last ring. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, am I speaking with Abbey Morgan?"

The poor woman sounded just as reluctant and exasperated as Gail was feeling and felt a pang of sympathy for the poor soul who had somehow become entangled in the webbed mess her good for nothing half sister called life.

"Actually, its Gail-"

"Oh dear!" it was the first time she heard some semblance of honest emotion. "I must have the wrong number written here, I'm so sorry to bother you-"

"No, no," she quickly interrupted. "My name is Abigail. From the nickname I'm assuming this call is regarding Wendy Case."

"A Wendy Teller, actually ma'am. It says in her file that you are her emergency contact."

Of course it was an emergency. Gail had learnt during the brief years she spent living with her mother and two half sisters that anything to do with Wendy Case was always an emergency or too important to wait. Their mother had seen fit to indulge in this belief, a fact that Gail still faulted for the way her sister ultimately turned out.

"Why would she list me as her first contact?" she mused to herself, forgetting her audience briefly. She was swiftly reminded when the nurse awkwardly cleared her throat.

"Ma'am, my name is Anna and I'm calling from St. Thomas. If its not too much trouble we need you to come down straight away so we can confirm your identity before we ask you any questions regarding your sisters welfare. If you could bring a drivers license or passport it would be greatly appreciated-"

"St. Thomas? I thought you were calling from Oak Hill?"

"No, ma'am. St. Thomas General Hospital. Please, ma'am, time is crucial. Your nephew's life is at risk-"

Gail blocked the frantic woman's voice from her head the minute she mentioned her nephew. But that seemed the very core of the problem. She didn't have any nephew's. Only two nieces on her other half sister Brynne's side.

"_Ma'am!_"

"Sorry!" she tried to sound sincere, she really did but how could she? Gail was nothing if not confused and now the hands of a little boy she wasn't entirely convinced existed now rested in her hands? It really wasn't below Wendy to fake a pregnancy or child in order to get her own way. She had already done it before when they were still in high school. "I'm on my way."

"Thank you," the relief in her voice was palpable. "Come to the emergency ward and identify yourself at the triage desk. All the nurses have been informed to check identification and let you straight through to the doctor and your sister. See you shortly."

The woman promptly hung up. Clearly she didn't want to leave any room for Gail to refuse. In hindsight it was probably a wise move on her part.

Securing the cordless phone back into the mounted cradle, Gail reached for the temporary Chinese container she had placed on the narrow table shoved up against the wall. She had tossed three different sets of keys into the slightly cloudy plastic; her personal keys, her work keys, her out of state keys.

She fished around briefly before pulling out the pair with a dirty Pikachu key ring. It was old, missing an ear and part of its tail. The sheer girth of the tiny anime creature was testament enough to just how old it really was. With the largest metal loop trapped around her index finger and the bulk tucked into her palm, she spun on her converse clad heel to face the front door.

Seemingly out of the blue, she lurched suddenly to the side and quickly braced herself against the cream painted drywall. Whether it was the frustration, the adrenaline, the wine or even a healthy combination of the three she wasn't really certain. What she did know, however, was that there was no way she was risking the almost perfect condition of her SUV by trying to drive in her state.

But at the same time, a small sense of panic was nagging at her conscience. Despite how much she loathed the selfish bitch her sister had become, she was still her sister and she knew she couldn't live with herself should anything happen because she had decided to sit around and twiddle her thumbs while she waited for Charming's only taxi service to send its latest pensioner looking to make an easy buck.

There was also the possibility that she had a nephew whose wellbeing legitimately rested in her key holding hands. If she wouldn't be able to live with herself if anything happened to _Wendy_, how would she deal with being responsible for the ill health of an innocent child?

With her mind newly made up, she pushed away from the wall and pushed her way through the front door, not really caring but feeling slightly better when she heard the heavy door slam shut, the faint click indicating the dead bolt sliding into place.

She clicked the top button on the small remote and yanked on the drivers side handle. Within seconds of strapping on her seat belt, the navy blue four-wheel drive was backing out of the paved driveway and speeding down the quiet street.

* OYB * LDW *

Gail gripped her throwaway paper coffee cup with both hands. It was currently tucked to her chest to try and leech some of the heat back into her frozen body. She could see her reflection in the glass. She was all messy dark brown hair; almost black it was so deep, tossed up into a knot atop her head and ashen, clammy skin.

Her wide, pale blue eyes had kept a steady focus on the tiny infant with a similarly coloured blue beanie tucked onto his head. Abel Teller. A good strong name. He would need it too, what with all the damage her good for nothing junkie sister had done. Born addicted to crank with a hole in his heart and a tear in his stomach.

Her breathing caught in her throat. It was like history repeating itself. Both Gail and Wendy had been born with similar defects due to their mothers drinking and partying lifestyle. Sandra Fox hadn't seen the need to give up the drugs or alcohol when she got pregnant at some truck stop east of the land of no-man to a no name, no face trucker with a wife and kids east of the border.

Despite being a single mother and toting a sick baby around Sandra had managed to meet and secure the hand of one Harrison Dale Morgan. He had been willing to over look her past discretions before she started leaving baby Wendy with him night after night to party, sometimes not coming home for days at a time.

He had thought that when she became pregnant the second time she would change her ways. She now knew the cost of caring for a sick baby and this time around had a loving husband to share in the workload. At first it appeared to work. Sandra stopped spending days away and even got a job to keep preoccupied.

What no one realized was that her day job was nothing more than her nightlife shifted into the sunshine for a few extra dollars if the other person didn't mind the belly.

Soon enough Gail had been born with one kidney severely undersize with a tear in her stomach and addicted to an array of substances. If that hadn't been enough to drive her father away, the dumping of a third child on their door-stop was. The father of three-year-old Brynne just so happened to be one of her father's co-workers and enough was just enough. He informed Sandra that despite everything he would keep the children, he had a better chance at raising them right than Sandra ever had.

The next morning he woke up to find all four girls gone. Sure, Gail had reestablished contact with her dad as soon as she was old enough to. But her mothers refusal to let her go and her fathers reluctance to battle it out with her mother left her stuck in an unhappy home where neither herself nor Brynne were ever good enough. Wendy, on the other hand, had been the apple of their mother's eye.

Gail knew she may only be the little boy's Aunt but she felt a compassion for him that she would have expected his own mother to share given her own tumultuous birth and upbringing. Wendy had done nothing but fall into the same cycle their mother had and it was destroying not only the two of them but those around them.

How could she not see that?

"Precious little thing, isn't he?"

If Gail had felt tense before, it was nothing compared to the sudden tightening of every muscle in her lean body. It was as if they had coiled, prepared for a sudden fight or flight reaction but prepared nonetheless. That voice was enough to put any soldier on guard.

From the corner of her eye she saw the confident stature of Gemma Teller-Morrow step up beside her to gaze down on the blue bundle. The woman's tone was still biting and harsh although it was nothing compared to the tongue-lashing she had received the minute she had been cleared by security to head back to Wendy's room.

Apparently she was purposely sabotaging this woman's grandson's life by taking her sweet ass time all in order to take out some twisted revenge for her sister. _Such a pleasant woman._

Gail remained still. She figured the best response would be to not say anything at all if the set of the woman's mouth was anything to go by. She had no doubt her current calm could turn vicious within seconds.

"Shame he wont ever get to meet his mother," she started off. Gail passively swiveled her head to look the woman head on. Gemma was still appraising her from the corner of her eye. Gail could recognize the callous glint to mean she wasn't finished yet, and whatever she had to say, Gail probably wouldn't like it. She turned her head to stare back down at her survivor nephew and waited for the other shoe to drop. "Or his Aunt."

That snapped her attention back to the older woman, her head whipping around to stare her in the eye just as coldly. "_Excuse me?_"

"You're right. It wont really be a shame. I was just tryna be polite."

Gail folded her arms tightly across her chest, ignoring the coffee cup now resting awkwardly between her chest and bicep. The smirk on the other woman's face told her exactly how confident she was in what she was saying. Gail was smart enough to know that usually meant she was the type who could actually back up anything she said. That was her first mistake. Now Gail also knew that this woman was overconfident in her ability to get her way through intimidation, and she also knew whom to target if the time ever came.

"I don't need your niceties or your pleasantries."

"Good, cause you weren't getting any. Take a good look at that boy, once he's moved to a private room you wont see him again. I'll make damn sure no one to do with that junkie tart gets on that visitor list."

"Look, Mrs. Morrow. I know your looking to play the blame game and seeming as Wendy may as well have served herself up on a platter, I'm honestly not sure why you're coming after me," Gail finally snapped. If this old bitch thought she could dictate her nephews life just because _she said so_ then she had another thing coming.

"Don't think for a second I don't know what you're up to," she hissed back, an admittedly perfectly French manicured nail shoved in Gail's face.

"And pray tell, what would that be?"

A voice cleared in the background causing both women to pause.

"Gemma, can I talk to you for a second?"

Gail finally caved to her curiosity and craned her neck to look back over her shoulder at the newcomer. The woman was of average height, slender with dark brown hair and plain features. Despite this there was a soft prettiness and femininity to her face. She could tell from the scrubs and the lab coat that she was a doctor.

"Dr. Knowles."

Gemma sounded about as thrilled to talk to _this_ woman, as she had been to speak to Gail.

Without explaining where she was going, Gail spun on her heel and headed towards the maternity ward. Despite the extenuating circumstances the staff had seen it best to place her in a unit closest to the neonatal department. Although Wendy had all but given up her parental rights the minute she injected crank into what was essentially her unborn baby's veins, they felt it safer to have her closer to the infant.

"Oh, Miss Case?"

Having already prepared herself for the misconception Gail paused to look back at the self appointed matriarch.

"We haven't finished."

Gail simply smirked back. "Looking forward to it."

* OYB * LDW *

Wendy had still been asleep when Gail went to check on her and she didn't know whether to feel ashamed or not that she was glad for it. The minute she had laid eyes on her sickly sister she had nearly lost her composure, the tears had been at the surface and the underlying rage had simmered in her veins.

Deciding to give herself a time out, she headed back through the maternity ward towards the pathology laboratories located directly next door. She had been shown to her office before she had made the move and was thankful to actually have some sort of sanctuary in the hell her sister had created. Normally her home would provide that space but the connection she had subconsciously formed with her nephew prevented her from leaving the building.

She was still in the same clothes she had been in when she arrived the previous evening. Luckily moving house was a casual affair and her yoga pants and plain grey t-shirt was lasting her well. She reached the door and dug through her handbag for her swipe key. After pressing it against the sensor for two seconds, the lock popped open.

Pushing the door aside provided her with the small lift her spirits had needed. The office was sparsely furnished but a mac computer, printer and scanning system plus extra screens had all been set up in what had formerly been a completely bare room.

The idea came as a split second decision. She pushed the door closed behind her with her foot and quickly sat down in the high backed swivel chair in front of the monitor, pulling out her phone at the same time. After inspecting the draws she found the appropriate cords and quickly set to work.

Twenty minutes and a quick trip to the gift store in the main entrance later, Gail found herself wandering the halls leading back to the NICU. She didn't know what time Abel was being moved but she figured she would take one last look – for now – at him and then pass her gift onto one of the staff to place in his new room. She had no doubt about how serious Gemma had been regarding the visitors list and given the circumstances was probably well within her rights to do.

Upon reaching the same glass observation window she felt a small pang. The small space that had been occupied by a glass incubator containing a precious blue bundle was now filled with yet another incubator, only the tiny person inside was swathed in hues of pink. She gripped the gift in her hands a little tighter.

How long would it be until she saw her nephew again?

"What are you still doing here?"

Gail turned around to see the same woman who had confronted the matriarch the last time they had been in that very room. She was still dressed in her pale pink scrubs but had ditched the lab coat. She held a clipboard between her pale hands, her knuckles turning white from the pressure of her grip. It would seem associations played a big part in this small town.

"What does it matter?"

The doctor's face screwed up as if she tasted something unpleasant. "S_tay away_ from that family, do you hear me? Yours has already done enough."

With that she left as quickly as had come.

Gail figured it was safe to assume it would be a pleasant couple of days to come.

**A/N: so I'm back with a new project baby! This is a concept I started working on years ago but after one laptop died and another met an unfortunate end – or new beginning – on a train it never really came to fruition. **

**I haven't given up on ARTESIAN CRISES, in fact I have a chapter or two in the works so hold on tight for those. Once again, this is just another little side project that could potentially gain momentum should the response be favourable…**

**Now show it some love!**

**Leave your ideas, thoughts and general conversations in the box below, I lurve, lurve, LOVE to hear from you all. It makes me smile **

**Until next time folks!**


	2. Chapter 2

OFF YOUR BACK LIKE DUCK'S WATER

Chapter Two

Abigail hated sitting still. It gave her mind leave to wander. Given the fact she was currently seated next to her sickly sister's hospital bed her thoughts could only trail off in a less than positive direction and she knew if they had any chance of getting through this, she would need to at least give off the impression of being strong. Wendy would be relying on her to be the stable one. But would that make any difference?

She really didn't know these days. Gail had vowed nearly six years ago to always be there for her family no matter what, her troubled older sister in particular, but time had chipped away at that vow until a good two years later she had revoked that promise. Yet here she was, twenty-five years old and siphoning money from her personal savings account to the medical fund currently keeping Wendy in a hospital bed.

Not to mention the separate account that had been paying for rehabilitation treatments at the Oak Hill rehabilitation clinic. Gail wasn't sure whose recovery she had been funding but it sure as shit wasn't Wendy's. Little Abel was proof enough of that. Well whoever it was, the updates she was receiving assured their remarkable recovery.

But the signs were still staring her in the face. Smaller, physical signs that were visible even from her seat next to the bed. The lines around her eyes and mouth, the sunken hollows of her eyes, sharp cheekbones that had only been so defined the first time her habit got out of control. She looked much older than her thirty years but seemed to have the mental capacity of a rebellious teenager.

With a sigh that seemed to get choked halfway, Gail stood up and leant over her sister's prone form. She carefully brushed her hair away from her face and placed a quick kiss on her forehead before brushing aside the pallid curtain to head for the cafeteria. She knew their family resemblance would only intensify if she let _her self _starve.

She felt a sharp pang in her chest as her vicious thoughts got away from her again. This is why she didn't like sitting still. Her mind would come up with nasty conclusions and ideas and hurl them at her like baseballs from a pitching machine when she least expected it.

Twenty minutes, a trip to the bathroom and an overpriced coffee and donut special later, Gail made her way back up to Wendy's room. Even from the quiet hallway she could hear more than one voice leaking from under the closed door. She would bet her bottom dollar the door was locked if the voice she detected belonged to who she suspected it to be.

She paused just next to the door; close enough to confirm the speaker but too far to grasp any individual words. At least if the door suddenly opened it would look as if she was only just reaching the door instead of eavesdropping like she was. In this case, however, she didn't really think of it as eavesdropping, rather monitoring her sister's condition.

"Spying is unbecoming, you know."

Gail whipped around, her back then facing the door she had steadily been leaning closer to.

"So are sneakers and leather but you don't hear me chastising strangers."

She felt a flash of satisfaction loosen up her tightened chest. Not her best but enough to show she could hold her own. She had always prided herself on her wit but it had seemingly failed her the past couple of days, the ominous feeling of self-destruction looming over her family's head.

Apparently the biker in front of her didn't share her appreciation.

His blue eyes creased with a deep frown that showed the barely simmering rage beneath his relatively calm exterior. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair as if he had done it numerous times out of anxious habit but seemed to catch himself halfway and quickly pulled his hands down to his sides. Looking newly resolute, he squared his shoulders to face Gail head on.

"Lucky I'm not here to talk fashion. Now, what do you think you're doing here?"

Despite her earlier bravado, the glare on his face spoke volumes. He was a man on a mission and he wasn't about to let her interfere, that much she could see for herself. She debated telling him the truth. She really didn't have any reason to lie but despite his obvious lack of fashion sense he was still intimidating.

She had deducted pretty quickly that the father of Wendy's baby was a biker when the old bitch who had introduced her self as Gail's very own self appointed demon from hell had brought along a couple of patches to view the child in the toaster. And from the looks of things, Wendy had managed to fuck with the second dog from the top.

Trust her sister to unintentionally make a shitty situation even more fucked up.

"Abigail Morgan. I'm a pathologist at St. Thomas."

The half-truth hadn't been planned, it simply tumbled from her lips before she had even tasted the words. In hindsight, it was a safe move. Identify her self without giving away too much and all the while sticking exactly to the truth.

The blonde biker smirked nastily at her stoic expression.

"So you're the gash that nearly let my son die."

"I see you've spoken to your mother," she mumbled half-heartedly. At least her suspicions had been confirmed, this was indeed the father of her nephew. Truthfully, she hadn't been one hundred percent sure how she was going to get a solid answer. After all, Abel may have shared _this_ biker's blonde hair and blue eyes but he also shared those features with his mother. Even as a recessive gene, the pale blue eyes of Sandra Fox had managed to be passed on to all three of her different-fathered daughters. It wasn't such a leap to assume the same had been passed to the newborn.

It was as if something in him snapped at that moment. One minute he was ten feet away, the next he had pushed up right into her face.

"Because of you my son nearly died on the operating table. Did you know they weren't allowed to touch him until you gave the okay? Is that why you wouldn't answer the phone? Why you kept stalling the doctors?"

"Wait, what? I nev-"

"_No._ You need to pack up your junkie whore of a sister and _get the fuck out of Charming_. I don't care where you go, as long as I never see your face around _my_ son again. I wont ask so nice next time."

Despite the fact he had obviously travelled all the way to see Wendy – whether or not he'd had good intentions, admittedly most likely _not_ – he still turned away from her and swaggered back down the hall way he'd appeared from, one hand digging around in his pocket and producing a phone.

"But I _just got hired_," she whispered to herself.

What else was she meant to say when she had just been verbally handed her ass? Even if he had no goddam idea what he was talking about. She could already identify who had blindly led him to paint her as the bad guy and she was pretty sure it was the same person now opening the door behind her.

"Oh. It's you."

Gail turned to face Gemma, her features still stoic from the uncomfortable confrontation she had just endured from the demon woman's demon spawn.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I don't waste disappointment on _murderer's_."

"Lady, you married into the wrong family then. Coincidentally, so did your son. Apple really mustn't fall far from the tree. Not a very pleasant chap, is he?"

"Listen up, you little tart. Let me make one thing clear-"

"He saw his own way out. I reckon you can, too."

Gail saw the older woman's hand rise slightly but held her ground. The hand slowly clenched into a fist before lowering back to her side. She would bet anything the woman honestly didn't realize how similar her own mannerisms were to her sons.

"Just thought she could use a little help from the Lord."

Gail frowned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What are you even talking about?"

"What's going on?"

Gail closed her eyes and swallowed deeply. All her life she had tried to better herself, better her life and break the cycle. The same cycle Wendy had fallen into. Maybe it was because she had a mother _and_ a sister who had fallen victim – or willingly latched on to, in her mother's case – to a lifestyle based on drugs and making enough money to purchase said drugs that gave her the strength to keep on the straight and narrow. Double the destruction and disappointment to ward her away. Or maybe even because she had a sister who had managed to break the cycle and live a normal, happy life, a role model to look up to and draw her conviction from.

But either way she had managed to make something of herself and live an honest life.

So why did the universe feel it necessary to drop not one, but the two current banes of her existence straight into her lap at _exactly the same time._ If that wasn't bad enough, they couldn't even tolerate each other and yet she was meant to deal with the both of them at once?

She didn't need hospital cafeteria coffee anymore, she needed a goddam tumbler.

"Mrs. Morrow was just leaving," Gail finally answered the prim doctor. If there were one downfall to her new position at the hospital, it would be the frequency with which the pathologists had to interact with the doctors. Tara Knowles was not a person Gail wanted to frequently make the acquaintance of. "And unless you're here in an occupational capacity then I suggest you get the hell out as well."

"I'm the surgeon residing over this case, you have no right-"

"I'm her_ sister_ and, as of her admittance to the ER, was awarded guardianship and conservatorship. So actually, I have a _shit load_ of rights and the more you push the more likely I am to backhand you with a legal dictionary. Capiche, Doctor Knowles?"

"I can have you removed from this hospital-"

"_I work_ in this hospital. And as of right now you are harassing a patient. Now say what you have to say and leave."

With her back still turned to the biker matriarch, Gail missed the satisfied smirk Gemma shot at the young doctor. Tara, however, spotted it for exactly what it was.

"Gemma. I came here to talk to Gemma."

"Good, now both of you can finally lea-"

Her relief-fueled statement was suddenly cut off. Three heads whipped around at the mechanical squealing abruptly filling the corridor. Gail felt panic squeeze the air from her lungs as she roughly shoved the older woman out of her way and barged through the closed sea-green door.

She let out a strangled cry as she watched her sisters body jerk around limblessly. There was no control to her movements and Gail instantly recognized this from one of the many moments in their teen years that Wendy had taken things a step too far.

"Help me!" she cried as she ran toward her helpless sister. Gemma stood to the side watching on as the young woman launched into action. For a _pathologist_ she sure as shit knew what she was doing.

She watched her slam the red button above the bed head, the universal medical assistance signal, and then lower the bed to lay flat. She squeezed the seizing girls cheeks to force her mouth open, checking her airways and trying to see around the foam suddenly frothing down her chin.

Then she froze.

Gail let her arms drop to her sides and stared at the needle still sticking out of Wendy's arm. This wasn't some sort of jacked up methamphetamine withdrawal.

It was assisted fucking suicide.

* OY * BL * DW *

Gemma kept her face stoic but she had to hand it to the girl. She was sharp. Sharp enough to become a problem, that was for sure. She saw it on her face the moment she realized exactly what had happened. She knew it because her gaze immediately locked onto Gemma's, all the accusation and hatred she should have expected to see.

Despite her already palpable dislike for the three other women in that room, Gemma couldn't help but think even less of the young baby surgeon next to her for her lack of action. Gemma watched as Gail snapped herself out of whatever shock she had fallen into and jerked back into action, pressing emergency call buttons and checking heart rhythms like her life depended on it. Or her sisters…

But Tara. Fucking Tara Knowles just stood there almost directly beside Gemma and watched on, her arms folded and a haughty expression on her face. Until the response team came in at least. Then her arms grabbed Gemma's and pushed her back a step as if she had been hurrying Gemma out of the way and rushed to Wendy's side to take over the update Gail had been giving on the order of events.

This was the woman who, if she managed to weasel her way back into her son's life, would inevitably end up taking care of her grandbaby and filling the role of his mother.

Gemma hated Gail for putting her grandsons life in danger. And even though Tara was the woman to save him, she hated her even more for trying to manipulate everyone else's vision of herself.

* OY * BL * DW *

Gail sat in her office and looked at the lone, framed picture on her desk. It was relatively recent, maybe two years ago? Right before Wendy fell off the wagon again and Oak Hill was organized. Not that it had worked.

It was one of the few times Brynne had managed to convince Wendy to attend a family Christmas dinner at her place in Texas. Brynne had moved there to live with her husband on his family's ranch after it had been passed onto him.

Even though it had been nearly ten years since Brynne had moved out of their mothers trailer to study law on a full scholarship in New York, Gail still felt a twinge of resentment at the thought of her sister abandoning her. She knew that Brynne had only wanted to make a better life for herself, become more than what her mother and eldest sister were proving life to be, and she had done it. She'd become a barrister, married a Southern gentleman and moved stateside to give birth to her three gorgeous children.

It really was one of her favourite pictures of them. Gail was standing between her two sisters holding Brynne's twelve-month-old daughter Hailey, Wendy was to her left with three year old Samson and Brynne to the right, cradling her swelling stomach lovingly. All three sisters had dressed up for the occasion. Wendy had looked so beautiful, young and carefree like she was meant to.

Whether it was because she was stuck in a small town, at a small hospital, with only her half sister to call family she wasn't sure, but she was suddenly completely envious of her elder sister.

She had dialed the phone before she even consciously thought about it.

The first thing to reach her ears past the dial tone was the unhappy screeching of a one year old and the shouting of an even unhappier almost three year old.

"_Samson! Give Hailey her Barbie back, I will not tell you again!_ Gail, this really isn't the time for a social-"

"Wendy's in hospital."

The muttered _fuck_ and _Mummy said a bad word!_ had Gail snickering despite the dour nature of the phone call.

"Let me guess, another overdose?"

"With a side order of premature baby addicted to meth and a hole in his stomach and heart."

"Wendy had a baby?"

"And got married, it would seem."

"_She had a baby?"_

"Had being the appropriate word. From the looks of the other half of the family, she won't for very much longer."

"They can't do that-"

"Brynne, she was _using while pregnant_ and nearly killed the poor little thing! And if that isn't enough the in-laws are saying that _I_ tried to sabotage his chances by deliberately taking my time giving them the okay to operate on the kid. Something about dual parental consent or some shit…"

"Abbey, whose in-laws are we talking about?"

Gail sighed. Every now and then a family member would slip back into old habits and it pained her every time.

"Wendy's, I just told you she got married."

"I wasn't invited to the wedding," Brynne muttered petulantly.

"Don't you think we have bigger problems to worry about right now?"

"Hmph."

Gail pursed her lips. Despite Brynne being a whole three years older, it was almost like talking to a toddler. She was definitely spending too much time at home with her three munchkins.

"If it makes you feel any better then neither was I," she conceded. "And seriously, from the sounds of things it was a shotgun wedding in front of a judge in the town hall. I really don't think we missed out on too much."

"Except our sister getting married. As the only other married sister I could have been Matron of Honor. I've never been Matron of Honor before, you know?"

"Some one tried to kill Wendy-"

"_You didn't think to lead with that!_"

"She didn't actually die," Gail muttered in defense. "I figured the overdosing and the sick baby took priority. And it was more of an assisted suicide than flat out murder."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, the shrieking of Brynne's youngsters the only noise to fill the silence. "You sound remarkably calm about this. You're usually up in arms and demanding I step in in a professional capacity by now."

"I've cried, argued, and defended for the last forty eight hours. As angry as I am it's more for little Abel than Wendy-"

"Forty eight hours? And you're only calling now?"

"Brynne," she paused. "Someone may have provided her the hypodermic of crank but _she_ pushed the plunger."

"And yet, you're still there."

Gail looked back to the photo on her desk. God, they would never look like that ever again. Not in that life time, at least. "The definition of stupidity. Realizing your mistake and continuing to make it."

**A/N: so how are we feeling so far? Liking the direction? Too heavy and morbid? Not morbid enough?**

**Thank you to every single person who has reviewed, you make me look like an idiot every time I receive an email in public and I wouldn't have it any other way!**

**Once again, I love hearing your ideas and feedback so keep them coming! Please don't feel as if I am relying too heavily on reader in put for direction in this story, I already have a solid idea of where its going. However, if you've read my previous stories you'll know this, I like to incorporate your ideas within and immortalize a small part of **_**you**_** in this story as a thank you for reading **

**Until next time!**

**Carter Bishop..**


	3. Chapter 3

OFF YOUR BACK LIKE DUCK'S WATER

CHAPTER THREE

"You. Did. _What?!_"

Danny had always prided himself in being a real man, a man among men. He had the height and the muscle bulk to easily intimidate others and had used it for most of his life to get what he wanted. When that wasn't enough, he used it to get what other people wanted and he offered his services for a pretty penny.

He had never been afraid of anything or anyone.

Except for the man sitting in the clichéd, high-backed leather swivel chair behind what had to be a mahogany desk in front of him. The first time he had ever stepped into that office he had laughed out loud at the stereotypical single desk lamp that shone light directly down onto the desk and let the Boss's face hide in the darkness. He had learnt very quickly just how serious things really were.

This wasn't schoolyard bullying or abusing his girth to his own gain. It was _so much more._

"I went to the address you gave me. Know it was the right one, wrote it down and everything-"

He broke off to dig around in the deep pockets of his black trousers. They didn't hire no street thugs around here; you had to look the part. Professional.

"You _wrote it down?_"

Danny conceded that maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. The first rule of employment was _secrecy_. As long as you kept your yap shut and your head down you would do fine – eliminate voice recognition and getting your mug splashed across the headlines. The second part of that golden rule was to _never write anything down_. He had to be a ghost. A ghost that was gonna rough a woman up, scare her a little until she ran and told the people who the warning was directed at, but a ghost none the less. Maybe more of a poltergeist? He couldn't really remember.

But Danny was efficient. Anything he wrote down, he burnt to complete ashes before he even entered the address that had once been penned upon those very same ashes. After all, he knew what would happen to him if he…

He gulped audibly.

…lost it.

"I'm waiting."

Then he would be waiting a very long time.

"Well, uh, you see – I burnt it before I entered," a decent cover. "But it was written there! _It was_ the right place," Danny vehemently shook his head. "There _was_ a broad there, but she ain't no dark haired, skinny white bitch. Some obese blonde and 'er ginger boyfriend, I swear!"

Danny knew he had fucked up. But the silence stretching on before him told him more than any words ever could.

"So you're telling me," the voice paused as a tanned hand, made oddly ghostly under the white light from the desk lamp, stretched out to straighten the angle of the lamp head to shine directly onto Danny's face, "that even though you knew it wasn't the target, you still decided to go ahead with the operation?"

If he weren't basically shitting himself he would have laughed again at the stereotypical, mobster bullshit.

"I-"

"You just what?"

Danny really didn't have an answer. Not one he could say out loud at least. Truthfully, he had been angry. He had been employed for close to ten years and still hadn't moved up in the ranks like the other little pukes had. He had _so much more_ to offer. So maybe he hadn't done the recon he should of, maybe he had taken things a little too far. But this time, he was in it for himself. He _needed_ to take out his anger _just this once_ so he could reset back to neutral and keeping working hard until that sweet promotion came.

Considering his internal monologue and the feelings it had dredged up once more, he settled on silence as his answer.

"You decided to just ignore basic procedure? Wrote the address down, no recon or investigation, _shot two innocents in the head?!_" he heard a deep, angry breath, as he held his own. "You fucked up big time, Danny. And when _you _fuck up it makes _me_ look bad. You see why I'm so upset?"

Danny just nodded, not trusting his voice or the bitter anger rising up his throat.

"You have one last chance to find the _fucking_ bint before I put a bullet in _your_ skull. Capiche?"

He would show him fucking capiche, all right.

* OYB * LDW *

St. Thomas may have been a small hospital but Christ, was it ever medically advanced. All the latest technologies, instruments, techniques, and treatments – St. Thomas had it all. After her first official day on the job, Gail had found it a little easier to comprehend why such a small hospital had been given the funding for such an important research project.

Honestly, she just felt blessed to have been offered a place on the team, especially as a graduate who was essentially fresh off the farm.

Having started medical school at seventeen, Gail had successfully completed the four-year course and proceeded to complete a three-year graduate program with high praises from all her professors. So much so, upon recommendations written by each professor she had been taught by, Gail had secured the very position she now occupied – Hematologist in training.

The project itself focused on the genetic markers that triggered the onset of infant leukemia. Although she still had to take classes online and attend a practical assessment each semester on campus, she was content with the knowledge that in three years time she would not only be part of a published paper, but also a fully qualified Hematologist.

Recognized by the American Board of pathology and everything.

But first, she would have to spend her first rostered day off reading Chapter One of _Diagnoses and Procedures in Hematology_.

Super.

She was only thankful the weather was nice enough to spend the morning on her front porch. She needed the fresh air, needed to escape the stifling cleanliness and _sterility_ of the hospital. It was odd. Gail had never had an aversion to the crisp scent of bleach and latex until she found herself by her sister's bedside. Just sitting still.

With a cup of milk and honey tea resting on the small stool next to her and the text book on her lap, Gail slipped on her reading glasses and tucked her knees up in front of her, the motion making the old porch swing tilt back and forth on the breeze.

"_Chapter One. Cell Functionality and Abnormalities. The precise composition and function of a cell makes it not only vulnerable to microbes of a foreign nature but also to internal factors that are characteristically relied upon to activate and terminate these particular functions…"_

"You talk any louder and you'll have Old Mrs. Kirk on your porch step reminding you that Americans are meant to speak American."

Gail knew by now she would be able to identify that snarky voice even in her dreams. Hell, she'd heard it there too just a few nights earlier. And who else had a stilettoed shadow with one hip cocked and a hand on its waist?

"Well, lucky for Old Mrs. Kirk this is private property and I am more than happy to exercise my rights as the land owner."

* OYB * LDW *

Gemma glared at the petite girl tucked up on the porch swing. When standing she was willowy, taller than the average woman for sure, but at that moment she looked as small as a child. And with those big tortoiseshell glasses, her eyes looked as large and innocent as one, too.

Shame she'd attempted murder.

From the raised eyebrow and slight turning down of the girls lips, Gemma knew that her warning was as much for her as it was for Old Mrs. Kirk.

"Hm. Gonna invite me in?"

"When I have no plans to go inside myself? No, thank you."

Gemma sighed in agitation. Apparently the little tart was going to be harder to crack than she had anticipated. Jax had warned her not to try and mess around in his personal life. More specifically that this _Gail_ wasn't someone worth spending time on, that he had sorted it.

From how comfortably she was sitting right then, she didn't think her son knew as well as he thought he did.

"Not even gonna offer me a drink? Lemonade would be lovely."

Not even a blink. Brave little bitch. But in Gemma's books, brave usually equaled stupid.

"Someone's mama forgot to teach them a little southern hospitality."

"I wasn't born in the South."

Gemma locked her eyes straight with the girl's. If she wanted a Mexican stand off, she was going to get one. She smirked not so subtly to herself when the girl gave in first, sighing and looking down at the book on her lap.

"Look, Gemma. I know you have this idea that I was out on this Earth specifically to fuck with your life. I know you think that I tried to kill my nephew in some twisted revenge plot on my sister's behalf. I also know that you would like to believe that I'm not as smart as you," Gemma raised an eyebrow at that. She _knew_ she wasn't as smart as her.

"Oh, don't waste your breath," she interrupted. "We both know I'm not here to chit chat until the cows come home."

"Could have fooled me," Gail mumbled, dog-earring the page and placing the text book aside.

"Tryna tell me this _isn't_ some sick revenge when you've just signed for that stupid junkie slut's _parental rights?_ You want me to believe that you just so happened to turn up when she falls of the rails and then take your sweet ass time getting to the hospital when my grandsons _life_ is at risk?"

Gail watched the older woman's chest expand and contract rapidly under the force of her emotion. Yes, she hated Gemma's arrogance. She hated her unwillingness to listen to anyone who tried to tell her different to what she _thought_ she knew. In any other situation it would be admirable, to care so deeply and blindly for your family. Gail could relate, even if unfortunately it was to a sister who didn't value it all that much in return.

Hell, Wendy didn't seem to value anything but the booze and crank crawling her veins. Everything else had to measure up against that same scale.

Gail frowned as Gemma's eyes tightened slightly at the corners, the lines around her mouth drawing thinner as she reached a ringed hand up to touch the scar on her chest. With out even thinking about her action's Gail spun on her heel and headed through the open front doors to her kitchen.

She smiled slightly with relief; the kettle was still hot to the touch. Tossing in a teabag and spoonful of honey, Gail poured the water over the tealeaves and thought about what she was doing. Was she really trying to help the woman that had essentially labeled her a murderer?

Yes. She was.

A splash of milk later and Gail was back on the porch offering up the hot beverage with a grimace. "Don't talk to me about Southern hospitality. My bloody sister lives on a ranch in the heart of bloody Texas," she grumbled as she took up her position on the porch swing once more. "It ain't no lemonade but it should do the trick."

Gemma eyed the mug distrustfully, sending a glare at the girl and opening her mouth to warn her.

"If I was going to try to kill you I would be more creative than poisoning your tea. That's a sure fire way to get caught, anyway." Gemma was only positive she wasn't meant to catch the last part but it brought a reluctant smirk to her face. She took a deep pull of the hot liquid and felt her chest ease up.

The milk and honey were soothing, surprisingly. It wasn't a combination she had ever really found appealing but for whatever reason it, as Gail had assured, did the trick.

"Don't think this changes anything."

Gail chuckled into her own mug. "Of course not. That would be too easy."

Needing to get her stride back, Gemma readjusted the handbag on her shoulder and stalked to the porch swing Gail had folded herself back up on. Now was as good a time as any to tackle the real issue. Or at least one of many real issues.

"This little act you've got going isn't fooling anyone, sweetheart. Don't think for a moment that either my son or I will let your family near Abel just cause you showed sympathy _once_. She nearly destroyed that sweet boy, and you helped her do it. You think signing for her rights is gonna make it easier for you to get rid of him?"

Gemma and Gail had come to blows multiple times since they had inevitably met at the window outside little Abel's toaster, but for possibly the first time the strong act didn't seem to be holding up on the younger woman's end. Gemma could _see_ the tears in her eyes before they had even left the sockets.

She was momentarily thrown off balance. She believed whole-heartedly that this woman was responsible for a lot of the problems her grandson was facing; a few tears wouldn't change that. But she was also a good judge of character, and as desperately as she wished they were, those were not crocodile tears.

"It's funny," her voice wavered slightly. She cleared her throat and continued. "I've studied my ass off to get where I am. To be able to save lives, help people…" she trailed off as all of the pride she had felt in herself not even fifteen minutes earlier dissipated. "I might not do it as obviously as say, Dr. Knowles. I don't cut people; babies open and fix their insides with knives and needles. Hell, I've only spent two days officially in my profession and even then half of my roster is dedicated to studying." She choked off with a half laugh-half sob. "But what I do, is look at the _reason_ these things happen, I'm going to find the fucking _cure for cancer._ Because I _want to help people._ And yet…"

It was like a different person had taken over her body. Gemma watched almost fascinated as anger filtrated through her expression, she could trace a physical path.

"And yet people like you are ignorant of this fact. Our circumstances are fucked up, Gemma. And you're too goddam stubborn to _actually_ listen to what happened last week. And because I'm not a doctor, not stuck in a profession that tells Christ and his neighbor that I have some sort of hero complex, some need to save the world one sick person at a time, I must be some cold hearted bitch only out for revenge. Well you can get the hell off my property and stay the fuck away from me!"

* OYB * LDW *

Gail cringed as her mind replayed the afternoon over and over and over.

And over.

And over just one more time.

Then another.

Had she really thrown the towns self appointed Queen off her porch?

Yes. Yes, she had.

"_Fuck_," she whined pathetically.

Gail hadn't been given a choice when some redheaded woman with too large glasses and an ill-fitting charcoal pantsuit had shoved the parental rights forms under her nose. It was basically a statement saying Wendy was an unfit parent and if Abel's maternal side of the family ever wanted to see him again or even have a say in his childhood then she needed to sign that damn form.

She was now not only her thirty year old sisters guardian, but now also joint guardian of her nephew. Twenty-five years old and in charge of two living beings on such opposite ends of the spectrum it was laughable. She could hardly commit to breakfast food let alone be responsible for _actual people_.

Not to mention how many other people it pissed off.

No, now wasn't the time to be selfish. She had signed those forms for the sake of Abel and to give him some sort of lifeline to his birth mother, no matter how shitty a mother she had turned out to be.

And for Brynne's sake. Or rather the state of California. Brynne would probably decimate the entire continent if they tried to keep the little boy away from his family, no matter how screwed up part of that family really was.

Wiping the last of the evidence from her cheeks, Gail stepped out from under the protection of her porch to retrieve her mail. She may as well keep herself busy and settle herself down before she got back to studying.

It was as if the heavens had listened to her dismal thoughts. Considering the beautiful weather she had escaped the comfort of the indoor for she was almost shocked when thunder suddenly whipped across the now cloud-scattered sky and the rain began to pour.

Only her.

Tried to save her sister, tried to help her nephew, pissed of the most powerful woman in town, and then, as far as she was concerned, had caused a torrential downpour in the face of a brilliantly sunny day.

Could her life become any more damn cliché?

From the corner of her eye she saw a flurry of movement and then the hiding of Old Mrs. Kirks face behind a distastefully olive green lace curtain.

The answer was assuredly yes.

Her life sure as hell could become more clichéd.

**A/N: apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors, I really tried to push this one out as fast as I could in the minimal free time I've had lately. This was all written at three in the morning when I was still a little hung over so bare with me!**

**If you spot anything feel free to point it out, any comments, ideas, suggestions – go crazy!**

**Thank you to every single person who has reviewed/alerted/favourited this story; you don't understand how happy you make me **

**Ciao!**


	4. Chapter 4

OFF YOUR BACK LIKE DUCK'S WATER

Chapter Four

Jax stared down at the pale blue bundle tucked safely in his old lady's arms. His ma had been right; the antique style wooden rocking chair was perfect. Not in order to balance out the room as she had exasperatedly explained to him at the furniture store, but it was the one place that soothed his son quicker than any other.

He let his eyes wander from the sky blue SAMCRO beanie up to the face of the woman holding him. As a love struck teenager he had thought she would never look any less beautiful to him till the day he died. These days, his conviction was beginning to wane.

He would never admit it out loud if any one asked but he was honest to God relieved that he actually felt his chest tighten with his melancholy thoughts. With the lifestyle he led, it was nice to be reminded every now and then that he still had the capacity to feel real emotion; emotion that related to the important people in his life, not just his club.

Yet in his mind the two really shouldn't have been all that separate but for this woman who's beauty he had never before doubted, at least not until now that was, he had forced himself to build a wall between them.

But that wall was crumbling.

Of course he hated the fact that his club was threatening the little family he and Tara had began to establish but that was just the problem. The club wasn't meant to be the threat. The club was his family. He was prepared to fight outside threats for his family, for his club, but how was he meant to defend one from the other when they were meant to be one in the same?

God, he hated standing still. His thoughts just spun in circles and wrapped around themselves until they made no sense. He needed a drink. As he pushed himself away from the doorframe and turned his back, he missed the two watery eyes that glaringly studied his every move from their peripheral.

* OYB * LDW *

Gail looked at the unassuming concrete steps leading up to the closed door, her eyes scanning up to the faded blue awning anxiously. How could faded paint be so intimidating? So far it had managed to put the fear of God in her. But that could have been due to the fact that she'd just parked her SUV behind the cutlass of one Dr. Tara Knowles. It also could have been the fact that, through the reflection in the front windows, she had just watched the Queen of Charming pull up _behind_ her SUV.

_Fuck me._

Just as she heard the clicking of stilettoes pause merely a few feet behind her, the devil doctor herself opened the screen door, stepped down two of the stairs and folded her arms.

"Was this a planned ambush cause I haven't perfected my battle cry just yet."

"Her stuff is in the sitting room." With that the good doctor turned back up the stairs and reentered the small house.

"Well, don't just stand there. You got limited time before I start exercising my land ownership rights."

And there was the queen throwing in _her_ two cents.

Despite igniting the fire in the first place, Gail decided to play the bigger woman and ignore both biker royals. Disregarding the still unexplainably intimidating concrete steps, she slowly made her way into what may as well have been the lion's den.

Maybe it was previous experience and personal knowledge of Wendy's usual drugged up hide outs that had subconsciously painted the picture of what she expected the house to look like but the minute her foot crossed the threshold the light, airy hallway she stepped into shattered any preconceptions she may have had. The walls were a soft pale blue, freshly painted no doubt, and the skirting and ceiling a matching, crisp white.

True to her word, in three largish boxes all taped up and clearly marked in large, block letters sat the remainder of Wendy's life in the MC. Without waiting for an invitation she quickly made her way to the first and tested out its weight.

"What the hell was she doing, collecting rocks? Couldn't just take up knitting or something bloody normal, could she," Gail grumbled under her breath as she crouched at different angles, slowly easing the overstuffed cardboard onto her thin forearms.

"If you're talking coke then yeah, probably."

When the biker women had disappeared and left her to her own devices, she hadn't realized they planned on still keeping her under surveillance. She wasn't sure what was worse, Thing 1 and Thing 2 or the Baby Daddy.

His voice startled her into dropping the box, the shock putting her on her ass faster than Flash.

Turning her chin to look down her nose over her shoulder she responded primly, "I was speaking more of the conglomerate or igneous variety, if you're really that interested."

"Not really."

"Oh good, then maybe you'd prefer to help carry these boxes to my car."

She quickly picked herself up and turned to face the blonde biker as he shook his head, running her eyes over his facial features appreciatively. Then he snorted.

"At this point I'll do anything to get rid of every last reminder of that junkie bitch-"

"Like it or not," she stopped to frown and cross her arms over her chest, "in your case most likely not, that 'junkie bitch' is still my sister and no matter how much of a fuck up she is only Brynne and I are actually allowed to say it."

He looked at her with a smirk. "You know, if you hadn't tried to kill my kid and you weren't related to the bitch who almost did," he shrugged lightly, "I think I'd actually like you."

"If only the feeling was mutual," Gail mumbled sarcastically as she moved onto the smallest of the three boxes, sitting on top of what was conveniently the largest. She sighed in relief as she lifted the box with relative ease, her muscles still straining but it was manageable. Without waiting for Jax to lead the way she removed herself from the house entirely.

She was just crossing the path that bisected the driveway, her focus solely on the box when she ran into something tall and rigid.

"_Oof!_"

For the second time that day, Gail Morgan was on her ass.

* OYB * LDW *

The box wasn't that bad, just a mild annoyance that was easily taken care of by leaning against the doorjamb and resting it against his hip. Jax had meant it when he said that had the circumstances been different, she was a woman he could see himself getting along with.

He couldn't stem the flow of comparisons between this dark haired woman and the other currently sitting in the kitchen, just out of sight of each other. Both medical professionals, both dark-haired-pale-skinned, one used to be beautiful, one still was. But reality was a bitch and so was the fairer of the two women.

That was the only reason he choked down his damn need to help out a damsel in distress as some asshole walked straight into her on the sidewalk. She had some big ass box in front of her face and was essentially blind. This guy had had a clear view from the get go.

Apparently that wasn't the only thing he'd had in his sights. Within minutes he had her blushing and laughing along with whatever kiss ass apology he was offering up. When the stranger lifted the latch to the trunk of her SUV he'd finally had enough.

"Only one more box after this."

The two suddenly stopped their banter and looked blankly at Jax. He swallowed down the awkwardness he suddenly felt. He was the VP of the goddam mother charter of the Sons of Anarchy for fucks sake and here he was, kicking his kicks like a teenage girl over the woman who tried to murder his son.

That flipped the switch back to normal.

"Move," he growled at the other man and shoved past, dumping the box in the empty boot. Steadily his hatred continued to build. This woman had fucked with his family, fucked with his mother, and now she was fucking with his head.

Three strikes.

OYB * LDW *

"He told me if I didn't get my 'skinny white ass off of his land' he was going to have me arrested for trespassing."

Gail took a deep gulp from the glass of iced water Wendy had just handed her.

"Well that's Jax for you. Bloody moodier than a fifteen year old version of _you_," Wendy chuckled.

"I find any comparison between him and I to be highly offensive, just for future reference."

For the first time in years, Gail actually felt happy to be around her sister. She pushed away the niggling guilt that thought evoked. In the years that she had been clean and sober, Wendy's laugh had always been infectious. Once it started everyone would just somehow fall in, too.

Today was no different.

As they calmed down, Gail took the chance to look around the small living space. Ironically, it turned out the Oak Hill Rehabilitation Facility funded the sober living house Wendy had checked into. Gail had already put into action a new payment plan for the slightly cheaper accommodation to last as long as necessary for Wendy to get back on her own two feet.

Once again, guilt clawed at her chest. It didn't need to be said but Wendy knew it as well as Gail that it was highly _un_likely she would ever be entirely self-sufficient. She was just another addictive personality trying to fight their baser instincts.

Statistics said she had a minimal percentage chance, however, _personal experience_ said she had none.

"Okay, you have to tell me," Gail began on a lighter note, "what the hell are in those boxes? At one point you had me convinced you'd started some impromptu rock collection."

"A _rock collection?_" Wendy choked out a laugh around her mouthful of water.

"_Yes!"_

"I don't even…" she trailed off, still caught up in her amusement.

"I just figured it was one of those crazy pregnancy things, you know, like putting clothes in the fridge and jewelry in the bin."

"Who even does that?"

"Hey, I'm only using real life examples. Seriously, you should have called Brynne more often during your pregnancy. The stories she could have told you, my God," she trailed off at the slightly pained look across her sister's face.

"Look, Wendy…"

"It's okay, Abs. I know it was the right thing to do." Her chin turned the other way as she tried to discreetly wipe away a tear. "Signing over my rights, I mean. If I ever want to see him again then this is probably the only way. And there's no way any court would let Jax have full custody, not with his record and association with the MC."

"Whoa, Wendy, slow down. What court? What are you talking about now?"

Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"And do you really think they would win? I mean come on, you're a friggin' doctor, for crying out loud! And Brynne's a lawyer, she can help you!"

Gail felt her heart break a little at the hope that shone in her big sisters eyes.

"Wendy, there isn't going to be a court hearing."

"Wh… What? What do you mean? Of course there is. I had to… I signed over my rights so that he could live with you-"

"Yes, you signed over your rights but I'm…"

_Oh, Jesus_.

"I'm not going to fight them."

OYB * LDW *

Gail watched on silently, completely mesmerised by the soothing circular motions of the bar tenders rag on the counter. So far she had been kicked off of two different properties in two completely different towns and both times she had been doing _someone else_ a favour. The same person, actually.

"Bad day?"

"I'm drinking doubles, what do you think?"

The bar tender just nodded and continued to clean the counter.

"I'm not sure if I should be offended or not."

Gail looked up from his hand to his face. "Why? You're not the cause."

"Be that as it may, you've been here for nearly an hour and you still haven't recognized me."

Her pale eyes scrunched as she leaned a little closer. Dark hair, tan skin, slightly too large mouth and kind green eyes. Definitely appealing. _And what do you know…_

"Desmond… Derrick… Darren?"

"Derrick," he nodded with a small smile. "It took you less than four hours to forget me, I must have really made an impression."

"You remember that bad day I'm having? Well, its sort of taking up any left over brain power I have at the moment," she chuckled along with him. "Really, I am sorry."

"It's all good, just means I need to try a little harder next time."

"I didn't realize there was going to be a next time."

He looked up with a mock shocked expression. "You didn't? I was almost certain I had told you. Hm, how unusual."

She waited. He didn't say anything more, merely continued on with his cleaning. He'd now moved onto the glasses.

"Okay, I'll bite. Told me what?"

"About our dinner reservations."

"You've already made them?"

"No, but I needed to double check you were free this Friday at six thirty?

Gail found herself smiling, genuinely anticipating the date. She honesty hadn't expected to see him again so it was a nice little surprise. She had been in Charming for nearly two weeks, it was about time she started getting out and meeting people.

She smiled reassuringly when she realized she hadn't answered for a couple of minutes. His worried face was actually sort of adorable.

"Friday at six thirty sounds wonderful."

"Good."

OYB * LDW *

Danny stared at the bite mark on his hand. Little droplets of blood seemed to ooze from the wound at the same rate as his pulse.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!_

Everything had been going smoothly. He'd done his recon, he'd made sure the bastard was out of the house before he entered and had gone in only with the intention of looking around and potentially taking anything that would point him in the right direction.

_Then this goddam bitch came out of nowhere and had to fuck everything up!_

She had startled him but he got his bearings back quickly. Nice and professional. He'd followed standard procedure and smothered her mouth with his hand. He hadn't expected her to fight back, let alone _bite_ him.

No, he hadn't followed _every _step of procedure.

_Fucking gloves!_

She was a pretty little thing, though. Blonde, petite, too large eyes that made her look almost childlike even though she had to be in her late twenties. If not for the mass of watery black streaks running from her eyes he would even go as far as to say she was beautiful.

"I wo… I wont… tell anyone, I swear," she choked out over her sobs, pushing her small frame even further into the corner. By this point she was on her knees, begging him, pleading for her life.

If he weren't so angry he would feel drunk off the power.

Danny knew he had two choices, neither really working out in his favour all too well. He could keep her alive longer and let the enzymes in her saliva do their work. Then all the DNA proteins would be broken down and he'd be home free. Add in a glass of water or soda to wash it all down and make sure it was all gone. Done.

Or he could just shoot her now and be done with it entirely. But then if anyone in law enforcement caught wind they would try and establish a pattern, one he had left by accident but it was a pattern nonetheless. The victimology would be wrong – they would say he was targeting blondes, killing execution style. His only target was a brunette. It would, however, give away that it was a professional job. And then they would look into connections between the victims and it would all become plain as day.

Headlights suddenly flooded the hallway. That man was home again.

"If only he really was having an affair," he muttered sadly to her as he flicked off the safety, his anger receding only to feel oddly remorseful about this one. "I know you had thought he was. If he really were he wouldn't be home yet, though. Which is a shame for you. Finding out he really does love you only to be torn away from him."

He shook his head. The woman was still sobbing and sniveling. Both heard the engine cut off and before she even had time to scream-

_Bang!_

**A/N: Hey, hey, I'm back!**

**Nice and quick right? Sorry its not as long as the others, and that it's a little more broken up but there are so many different elements and aspects of this story to develop that its completely necessary at the moment.**

**Keep leaving your suggestions and reviews; I love it all so much!**

**For those who are also reading my Happy/OC fic, don't worry; I haven't given up on it. But I am a restless mind and I will probably bounce between these two stories until they are complete. I always need something new to focus on or my muse will disappear haha**

**Ciao**

**P.s. who would be interested if I created a Facebook account to post character pictures, previews and extra information? Just let me know in a review or even a private message if you would like this and I can have one all set up in the next day or so :) please let me know though! If it is a go, I will post the account name in the next chapter!**


End file.
